


His Kiss, The Riot

by smallzita



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Immortality, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Trans Gavin Free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallzita/pseuds/smallzita
Summary: Every coward seems courageousIn the safety of the crowdBravery can be contagiousWhen the band is playing loudNothing makes a man so boldAs awoman’sman's smile and a hand to holdBut all alone, his blood runs thinAnd doubt comes...doubt comes in





	His Kiss, The Riot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transvav](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transvav/gifts).



> This is my secret santa gift for the lovely @transvav ! If you haven't checked them out yet go do that right now!!

They first met in Mount Olympus.

 

Hades watched, with the other gods, as Zeus took apart the astros from the sky itself to make himself his perfect daughter. A women as beautiful as moonlight itself, one who wouldn't fight his orders or lead him astray, who would listen with no qualms and not fall for men he didn't approve of.

 

“Her name will be Artemis,” he announced, glancing down at the fully formed being laying naked in front of him with something like pride. Hades knew though, that his pride was directed to his own brilliance, and not to the scared being shivering at his feet. “She'll be the goddess of the Hunt and of the Moon.”

 

And Hades had to laugh because one look to the newly formed god’s warm eyes could tell the truth. Zeus might have reached for the moon, but there was no doubt in anyone's minds that he had taken hold of the sun instead. And that wasn't the only mistake he had done; Artemis might have been skilled with a bow in hand, but it did not compare to what she could do with a blank canvas and a single droplet of inspiration. 

 

That, and her voice--with an accent as intoxicating as poison--was as disarming as any weapon. Zeus saw her as a failed experiment, but Hades knew a masterpiece when he saw one. 

 

Their courting was slow at first, sneaking glances to each other when no one was looking, brushing hands when discussing the fate of the world, smiles shared just out of sight. When they embraced for the first time, the Earth was blinded by its first ever eclipse. When they shared their first kiss, it was so powerful it made stars burst.

 

Zeus was furious: nothing upset him more than having power stripped from him, so he forbade his daughter to succumb to men ever again. So instead, Artemis become one. 

The mortals always thought of Apollo and Artemis as twins, children made for Zeus as loyal servers, but that isn't entirely right. In reality they were the same, but still different: Artemis was Zeus's perfect creation, the prodigy daughter that never felt right. Apollo, well, Apollo was his own truth, the spark of revolution amongst the gods, the fires that would eventually destroy Greece and leave nothing behind. He was beauty, and chaos, and truth, and perfection. 

 

But Zeus didn't see it that way.

 

The two of them were banished without a second thought: Hades to the underworld, being forcefully wed to a goddess that didn't deserve the punishment she was receiving and who longed for a way back home, and Apollo to the mortal world, having his powers, his  _ godhood _ , stripped from him so he'd spend his life wandering as nothing but a starving artist looking for the love he lost. 

When the Romans invaded Greece, Apollo was almost glad to be swallowed whole by the fires that once represented his glory. The other gods were soon to follow as the mortals forgot their origins, and they too were extinguished out of the world, like candles to the wind, getting weaker and weaker before disappearing completely into oblivion.

 

All but one--after all, who in their right mind could ignore death itself?

 

That is not to say Hades didn't grieve, quite the contrary, as the embodiment of Death itself he could feel the passing of his people like physical blows on his skin, becoming more and more painful as the innocent were taken before their time and their souls were ripped from their mortal shells. It wasn't any better with the other gods. While the death of the mortals brought him physical pain, when a god perished he felt empty, hollow, like the air was being pulled out of his lungs and replaced with pure darkness. 

 

And as he watched Persephone--his reluctant companion and unexpected friend--fade into nothingness in his arms he came to the horrible realisation that everyone he ever met, everyone he had ever  _ loved _ , was just...gone. Turned to dust without so much as a goodbye.

 

It hit him hard. Even as the embodiment of death, he was not prepared for the overwhelming sorrow that came with it, nor for all the grief, the doubt and that loneliness that plagued his mind day after day. His only source of comfort was the numbness that made a home of his heart. 

 

He still did his job of course, still greeted the souls of the damned in his arms and guided them to the afterlife, but now his touch was cold, stiff. He cared not about these mortals and it made no difference for him if they lived or died. 

 

Until one of them didn't.

 

A millennium had gone by since the loss of his people, his hair had grown long and wild, his black clothes were stained with green mold, and his form was so withered and thin that the vests he once proudly displayed now hung from his body like an overgrown dress. The people were also different; men trained like Spartans since birth, with a shield and a sword at their side at all times. They made for fine conquerors, and because of that they hardly stayed in one place for long, choosing to explore the seas in their longboats and destroy all in their paths instead.

 

It was on one of those ships that he found his runaway soul: a soldier, young--or at least too young to be on death's door--with braided blonde hair and soft features. But what truly captivated his attention were his eyes, kind and warm like the sun, but most importantly they were eyes Hades thought he would never see again.

  
“Apollo?” He whispered, feeling his knees buckle beneath him. The confusion in his voice was only outmatched by the one in his long lost lover's eyes. But there was no joy behind them like there was in Hades, instead he was met with apprehension and slight fear.

  
“I think you got the wrong man.” Apollo says, reaching for something next to his bed that Hades can't quite see, but he does notice the many bandages around his body and the few long white and red scars that already mark his body. “It's not my time yet.”

 

Hades frowned, feeling got tears prickle sting at the corner of his eyes. “My love, it's me--”

 

Before he could finish his sentence there was a sword between his eyes. “I know who you are,  _ Hel,  _ but you're not taking me.” Apollo hisses, voice clouded with pain. “The gods of Valhalla will not have me at their table just yet, and neither you nor Odin Himself will take me from Midgard.”

 

Hades's confusion was only outmatched by his worry. As Apollo threatened him, growing splotches of crimson started popping up beneath the white bandages wrapped around his skin from the effort alone, his eyes looked dazed and his breathing was harbored and pained.

 

In that moment Hades didn't think, he didn't care about the very sharp sword between them, or the fact that he was still scared of dying just like his family did. All he could think was that Apollo was in pain once again, and he'd be damned if he didn't do something this time.

 

He took hold of Apollo's shaky hands on the hilt of the sword and for a second the entire world stopped.

 

And then time hit them again, Apollo cried out dropping the sword on the floor as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Hades instinctively tried to step back but a hand pulled him forward.

 

“Hades? My love?” Apollo whispered. He blinked, and suddenly his once green eyes were filled with nothing but golden light. “Is that you?”

 

Hades let out a sob, and that was enough for the two of them to start crying like children, the god of death falling into his lover's bed and kissing his tears away. Soft “I love you”s and “I missed you”s mixed between kisses and teary eyed smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

Apollo's crew welcomed Hades as one of their one and for years they ventured together through the seas, Hades at Apollo's side at all times. But Apollo was no longer a full god and eventually his mortal body succumbed to time and Hades took his body in his arm as he took his last breath and he promised that no matter what happened, no matter where or when, Hades would always find Apollo. This time, when he felt his love's soul leave his body he didn't weep or fret, for he knew they were bound to meet once again until the end of times.

 

And for the most part they did. 

 

Century after century Hades found him, always in a different place and a different form, only recognizable by the stubbornness in his soul and the golden spark that glimmered in his eyes. Every century Apollo would forget their history, their love, their true names, but every century Hades would remind him with a single touch. 

 

Sometimes it was harder--like when Apollo was born again as a prince and ruled over one of five vast lands, so Hades had to join his guard and spend years climbing up the ranks until he joined his court and could finally kiss his hands. Sometimes it was easier--like when he found Apollo, in all his golden glory, lying in the dirt and filth with tattered clothes and an all too skinny form, he couldn't even fight Hades when he picked him up and held him close to his chest, promising to keep him safe and warm. 

 

But that didn't matter, because after all that struggle they'd spend the rest of Apollo's short life together, living their temporary happily ever after. And eventually, after a thousand stolen kisses and giggles between sex, Hades would be forced to gently guide his lover's half mortal soul to the afterlife, but he would not weep, as he was already searching for a time where they'd meet again.

 

When the twenty-first century rolled around Hades was hesitant; due to modern technology it was more and more common to escape the claws of death. Therefore runaway souls weren't entirely unusual, making his life's mission seem almost impossible.

 

Luckily--or at least Hades had thought so at the time--Apollo spirit was almost as drawn to death as he was.

 

Los Santos was an entire ocean apart from where they were born, but it still called for Death as blood called for sharks. At day, the city was a pinnacle of technology and advancement, filled with skyscrapers taller than mountains and people trying to better themselves and the world around them. Or so they told themselves, because when night fell, the entire city twisted into a place of crime and darkness, where it was every man for himself and values were lost in favor of seeking fortune.

  
Naturally, Hades loved it. Apollo did too, for the most part; at least until he was left to bleed out in a random alleyway with a gaping gunshot wound in his stomach after a mugging gone wrong.

 

For the first time in centuries, Hades grieved. It had been only a few months since they found each other again and never before had Hades let Apollo die before living a full life. In a way, he felt like it was his own fault for not protecting him, for letting him stay in that forsaken city. Maybe that was what made him become mad, or perhaps it was the loneliness or the injustice of it all, it didn't really matter. What mattered now was that he planned to get revenge on the world that had taken everything from him again and again, and nothing could stop him.

 

The mask was a cheap imitation of what the mortals viewed him as--The Grim Reaper, The Angel of Death--but most importantly, it did its job, and it amused him in a time when close to nothing did. Infact, the face of Apollo's murderer when he saw the mask was the first thing to make him laugh after weeks, and his death was the only thing thing to calm Hades down.

 

For a day at least.

 

Then the real carnage began.

 

Hades soon found the killing addictive, after years of carrying the souls of the deceased into the afterlife it was oddly satisfying to finally being the one forcing the mortals to meet their demise. In truth, he cared not about who he was killing, all he wanted was to bring pain and suffering to the world that had destroyed everything he loved. And soon enough, he did, he taught Los Santos fear and despair of which they only thought they knew before, he showed them what the wrath of a god really felt like, and when they gave him his new name, Vagabond, he showed them exactly why it should be whispered in the dark amongst tears and prayers.

 

But not all people cowarded when they saw the mask, some challenged him, some gave him job offers, and some did both.

 

That's how he met Ramsey, one of the rising crime bosses of the city. He was a clever one, dodged instead of going straight for the attack and when The Vagabond had him pinned he simply laughed and declared it a good spar while giving him a pat on the back like a proud parent. The confusion was the only thing stopping Hades from killing him on the spot, and also why he took Ramsey's job offer. 

 

Afterall, the two's goals were widely different; while Hades craved death and destruction, Ramsey had no desire to kill people, all he wanted was to rule the city and make it his own kingdom. Hades didn't understand why he needed the Vagabond for that, and sometimes, when he caught him sneaking odd glances at the killer and then at his own hands, he guessed that neither did Ramsey.

 

His crew wasn't much better, composed of three others besides the two of them who clearly had already bonded over something or another, it was fairly obvious that all of them disapproved of the new hire, but they needed a killer and Hades had better results than anyone else. He wasn't trustworthy, they all knew that this was just means to an end for him and that he would likely vanish as soon as there was trouble in the horizon but... at the same time no one made any move to kick him out or made him feel unwanted, like they were expecting something to happen before they did. It was like the world around them all had frozen over, and they were acting normal but they were all painfully aware that at some point or another someone was going to make a movement which was going to destroy everything sitting still and they weren’t ready to discover which move that would be quite yet.

 

So they learned to coexist, and slowly they learned how to do more than that, and then one morning Vagabond woke up by loud exaggerated singing in another room over after accidently falling asleep in Ramsey’s couch, with a blanket thrown over his sleeping form and his mask discarded on a nearby table so he could breathe properly in his slumber, being immediately greeted by laughter and the smell of freshly baked breakfast and he realized suddenly that this was the happiest he had been since the last time he held Apollo in his arms.

 

And then Ramsey brought another person home.

 

The Golden Boy was different than them in many ways; he was all bright smiles and glamour, where they were rough edges and closed expressions from years of pain, he kept his distance from the bloodshed and with soft tones and song like voice he could make almost anyone do his bidding, but the crew craved to be where the action was and didn’t want anyone else to take that from them. But, he still was-as Jack, Ramsey's second in command, always put it-a stray like them, someone all alone and in need of a family, someone who had lost something long ago and desperately wanted it back, an orphan of the city.  He didn’t understand it at first, how could someone like him, who covered himself from head to toe in lies and gold and walked around wearing designers from his shoes to his sunglasses, be a stray? How could he be broken like they were when he acted like the world orbited around his very existence?

 

Their new hire smiled at them, all sharp teeth and viciousness hidden under a friendly grin, and lowered his golden sunglasses to the tip of his nose, analyzing them one by one and undressing their very souls with a long stare. Finally his eyes reached Hades’s own, green with specks of gold, like the sun itself lied under the surface and was trying to break through it to share its light, eyes he had seen century, after century, eyes that usually looked at him with love and care.

 

Hades felt his lips curl up under the mask.

 

This cycle was going to be fun.


End file.
